


When I First Saw You

by violents



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [5]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Ballroom Dancing, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Day 20 - Fairy tale/Myth retelling, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Letters, M/M, Making Out, POV Simon Snow, and you know what? shakespeare is close enough, stretching the prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21786424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violents/pseuds/violents
Summary: I met Baz Pitch three weeks ago. Penny, Agatha and I snuck into a party they were hosting for someone-or-other’s birthday. I danced with him (and it was absolutely electric for a waltz), we left and ended up making out in the rose garden. You know, as you do. Then he learned that my father is David Mage, and that I’m a Salisbury, and he told me that I had to get out as quickly as I possibly could. He said that I should return for the party tonight, and that he would find me.And he hasn’t found me yet, but the night is still young.(a Snowbaz Romeo and Juliet AU.)
Relationships: Fiona Pitch & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554958
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	When I First Saw You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This fic stretches the prompt a LOT, but like, whatever. Shakespeare is close enough to a fairy tale or myth. The title is, of course, from Love Story by Taylor Swift (and if I'm being honest, it's more of a Love Story au than a Romeo and Juliet au, because it's happy.)
> 
> enjoy! Rated teen for swearing.

**Simon**

This room is far too warm.

It’s warm, and full of people. My mask keeps slipping off my face, which would be a disaster, because I’m currently skirting the edges of the ballroom in the House of Pitch. Most of the members of the Pitch family would stab me on sight, with those elegant rapiers they all carry on their person for some ungodly reason.

The one member who  _ wouldn’t  _ is the one person I’m looking for right now. At this point I’m convinced he’s purposefully eluding me.

I met Baz Pitch three weeks ago. Penny, Agatha and I snuck into a party they were hosting for someone-or-other’s birthday. I danced with him (and it was absolutely electric for a waltz), we left and ended up making out in the rose garden. You know, as you do. Then he learned that my father is David Mage, and that I’m a Salisbury, and he told me that I had to get out as quickly as I possibly could. He said that I should return for the party tonight, and that he would find me.

And he hasn’t found me yet, but the night is still young.

I would recognise him easily, even though this is a masquerade ball. (Are  _ all  _ the Pitch parties masquerade? It’s almost like they’re  _ trying  _ to engineer an embarrassing mistaken-identity situation). He has dark hair and a stark widow’s peak. He told me he’ll be wearing dark green and silver. He’s taller than me by several inches, which is crazy because I’m tall, too. He’ll be the most elegant dancer in the room.

His face has stuck in my mind ever since that night. He told me to return, and I have.

Everyone dancing right now is doing it perfectly. I am, after all, in a room full of Pitch cousins and uncles and aunts and family friends, and they have waltzes drilled into them from childhood. Some of the ladies have braided something sparkly into their hair; it’s catching the light as they spin in their gowns. It’s a beautiful picture. Honestly, even if I don’t find Baz tonight, I guess Penny would still tell me it was worth it to come, just to watch.

I’ve been asked to dance a few times tonight. I’ve declined them all. Every time the doors open and someone else walks in, my head turns so quickly that it’s starting to hurt.

Maybe I’m taking this too seriously. Maybe I’m too invested in a man I’ve met once. But there’s something thrilling about sneaking into this party to find him again, and that is definitely contributed to by the idea of running off to a dark side-room and kissing him until the sun rises.

Penny told me there’s no ending in which this doesn’t end badly. I know she’s right, but I find myself not caring at  _ all. _

That’s when the doors crash open, and this time everyone turns to look, as a tall man with white hair walks in. He isn’t wearing a mask. Neither is the woman next to him, who I recognise as Natasha Pitch, the real head of the family. And at his other side is another man— taller even than him, dark-haired, high cheekbones, wearing silver and dark green.  _ Baz. _

The people near the doors look startled, and actually curtsey and bow. I follow suit as my head spins.

I knew Baz was a Pitch. I didn’t know he was the heir. It’s unmistakable now, he looks so much like Natasha that there’s no way he couldn’t be her son.

I’m the only light-haired man in the room other than Natasha’s husband, and Baz is able to recognise me just from that. His gaze catches on me as it sweeps the room. His eyes widen, and he smiles, winking at me. The young woman standing in front of me must think it was directed at her, because she turns to her friend and starts chattering in rapid French.

I pointedly glance to the side of the room, behind a table covered with elaborate finger food. He nods slightly, and then vanishes into the crowd. I walk over to where I gestured, and after another few minutes of waiting I see him stride through the crowd effortlessly. He has donned a mask over his upper face, in fire-colours. I don’t know how he’s getting places so easily. I have to shoulder my way through and apologise to about twenty people to cross the room.

He walks over to stand next to me, smiling in a sly way that looks like he’s trying to suppress a real smile. It makes heat rise in my cheeks.

“Simon Snow.” He’s speaking in a low voice, almost under his breath. It sends a shiver down my spine. “You came.”

“Of course I did. And it was kind of a pain to get in, as well.”

“I’m ever-so-grateful,” he says dryly. I take his hand (which is absurdly soft for a man, not that I have much to compare it to) and, having looked around to see that nobody is looking, kiss it just below the knuckle. His breath catches.

“I didn’t know you were Natasha Pitch’s son.”

His eyes dart around. Suddenly, he looks on edge.

“Yes. Which may be a huge problem if she sees me with you.”

“Why?”

“My mother is the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. She’d see Mage and Salisbury in your features in an instant.”

He looks over the crowd and sees his mother engaged in conversation with a group of people well away from us. He grabs my hand.

“While she’s busy— let’s go, I have a room here.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Yeah, yeah, come on.” He pulls me through a side-door and closes it quickly behind me, leading me down a long hallway. It's empty, but for one person.

“Where are you sneaking off to, Basil?” asks the woman, who has a white stripe in her hair, and is almost as tall as Baz.

He drops my hand and nods at her primly. “Nowhere exciting, Aunt Fiona.”

“Don’t you think you should stay longer than five minutes at your parents’ party before sneaking off with some random boy?” she says, obviously teasing. She’s smiling conspiratorially at Baz. I feel very awkward.

“What I do and don’t do is none of your business—”

“More like  _ who  _ you do and don’t do.”

“—and I am a grown man, I can leave when I want to.”

She sighs, long-sufferingly.

“God, fine, I’ll try and cover for you. Also, you’re both, what, sixteen? You’re not grown men.”

“Close  _ enough.  _ As if you didn’t leave as soon as you could when you were my age.”

“Mhm. The amount of times Tasha caught me with Nicodemus in the bushes—”

“No, gross, don’t need to hear that.” Fiona winks at me. “We’re leaving now,  _ aren’t  _ we, Snow?” Baz says, giving me a pointed look, and then walks straight past her.

“Stay safe!” she says to our backs, more loudly than we would have liked.

“You’re the worst!” Baz shouts, and I almost want to hiss at him to be quiet, though I suppose he knows this situation better than I do.

“She seems nice.”

“She is  _ not. _ ”

Thankfully, we don’t bump into anyone else in the five minutes it takes for Baz to lead me to his room. It's decorated well, with a big four-poster bed in the middle of it.

“Your family is, like,  _ rich- _ rich.” He nods, laughs a little, and sits down on the bed. I sit beside him, and look at him for a second, not really knowing what to say.

“I can’t believe you actually came back,” he says as he shrugs off his jacket and removes his mask. His shirt is beautifully patterned— swirling green and silver and dark red, almost Christmas-y.

“I can’t believe it, either. My friends tried to stop me, but I couldn’t  _ not  _ come.”

He places a hand on my knee. If I remember correctly, his hands were freezing cold last time.

“It’s so good to see you again.” Baz reaches for the lapels of my blazer and pulls it off, draping it over a chair that’s just within arms’ reach.

I don’t know where we  _ go  _ from here. When I last saw him, we ended up wrapped up in the thrill of anonymity, and also ridiculously attracted to each other once we removed our masks. There was something enticing about the forbidden nature of what we were doing. Now, it’s all out in the open. And I’m not sure what the next step is.

He undoes the top button of my shirt.

“Um. How have you been?” I ask him, sounding as awkward as I feel.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. Undoes another button.

He’s been doing this nonchalantly, near-silently; buttons, jackets, masks. Easy things to remove. I like it. It’s like he’s bringing me closer to him in the most efficient way possible.

“I’m fine. Better, now you’re here.”

I think,  _ fuck it. _

I tuck a piece of his hair behind his ear, and kiss him. And it’s as electric as it was the first time, especially as he immediately lets me slip my tongue in his mouth and shifts closer. He’s practically sitting on me.

I let myself be pushed backwards. I’m lying half on the bed, and Baz keeps nipping at my lower lip and then soothing it with his tongue. With the hand that isn’t currently clamped on my cheek, he nimbly flicks the rest of my shirt buttons open. I try to do the same for his, but my fingers are clumsy and I can’t do it with my eyes closed. He sits up for a second and I scramble backwards and kick off my shoes, as he pulls his shirt over his head. Both of us are breathing heavily.

“ _ God, _ ” he says breathlessly, “I forgot—”

“Me fucking  _ too. _ ”

“—forgot how good you are at this, holy shit.”

“Come  _ here _ ,” I say. He’s taking altogether  _ way too long. _

He holds himself up above me, on his hands and knees. I have no problem reaching up for his mouth. I think he expected that I would.

“How, how long do we have?” I manage, as I get the chance to speak while he kisses my neck (which is amazing).

“I don’t know. Don’t care, if I’m being honest,” he says, punctuating every phrase with a nip at the same spot. I’m going to have the hickey of a lifetime there tomorrow.

“If we get caught, Baz,  _ fuck,  _ it would be bad—”

“Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care.”

I don’t care either.

I could spend hours like this. Likely, we don’t have hours. Eventually, Baz’s parents will look for him or I’ll have to go home to avoid my sneaking out being discovered.

I  _ was  _ planning on spending as long as I could with my lips pressed to his, or his neck, or his chest or  _ wherever.  _ He’s a pleasant, warm weight on top of me; he smells like wood and citrus. He would be able to tell me what exactly the combination of smells is.

Baz stops, though, and presses his forehead against my bare chest, breathing in and out.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhm. Never better.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“It’s— I really, desperately want to see you again. I don’t want this to be the last time.”

“Whoever said anything about  _ last time? _ ” Baz sits up, and I pull him closer to me and prop myself up on some pillows. I tip his chin up with a fingertip. His cheeks are flushed.

“This might sound stupid, but do you—”

“I don’t think it's possible for you to sound stupid.”

His eyes brighten. “Right? It’s in my inflection. It’s honestly a skill and a privilege.”

I laugh, and kiss his cheek. Something in my heart clenches up.

“What were you saying?”

“Right. This might sound weird, but it kind of feels like I’ve known you longer than… well, three weeks or so. It’s as if we’ve met before.”

“I know exactly what you mean. Like, I’m not always good with new people, but with you it doesn’t feel forced or uncomfortable, it’s  _ easy. _ ”

He smiles at me, and there’s something  _ helpless  _ in his smile that I absolutely cannot resist wiping off his face with a kiss. The night is still young.

\--

_ For T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch. _

_ Baz. _

_ Since I last saw you, things have been crazy and I haven’t been able to arrange to meet you again. This has been a terrible turn of events. I miss you so much. _

_ I’ve been talking about you with Penelope. I'm sure I mentioned her to you— she won’t snitch, don’t worry. She’s my best friend. I mentioned what we said, about feeling like we know each other better than our brief amount of time knowing each other would explain. _

_ I’m not good with words like she is, or like you are (you two would get along well) but I think I have the words to say this. If there is such a thing as a past life, we met in one of mine. Call me sappy, but I can’t explain it any other way. I feel like I could pour my heart out in this letter, and you might already know what I’m going to say. _

_ No matter what theological theories we might have, I realise that if we’re talking literally, you don’t know much about me. So. My name is Simon. My middle name is Snow, which I like more than I should. I like sword fighting— with big, proper swords, not the skinny ones you all have. My best friends are both girls. I was born in the summer. I don’t actually know my grandmother’s first name, she’s just  _ ~~_ Lady Salisbury  _ ~~ _ my grandmother. That sentence doesn’t make any sense if I strike out her name, does it? But I don’t want you to get in trouble if anyone reads this letter. _

_ Anyway. I want to know more about you in the here and now, even if I might already know it somewhere deep down. _

_ I hope to hear from you soon. I miss you a frankly embarrassing amount. _

_ With affection, _

_ Simon Snow  _ ~~_ Salisbury. _ ~~

**Author's Note:**

> boy i just might continue this
> 
> my tumblr is [galaxy-houseplants](https://galaxy-houseplants.tumblr.com). Kudos and comments fuel me, so I'd appreciate them!
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


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